


Thousand Words

by BloodMageSpectre



Series: Aspiranti Inspirata [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Acceptance, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Freeform, Healing, M/M, Memories, Repressed Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 07:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17157953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodMageSpectre/pseuds/BloodMageSpectre
Summary: It’s just some silly little wanna-be-ficlet,  I made forCDHurricane’sbirthday.I suggest hitting play onthis songwhile reading this mini-piece.





	Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hurrricane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hurrricane/gifts).



> It’s just some silly little wanna-be-ficlet, I made for [CDHurricane’s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hurrricane/profile) birthday.  
> I suggest hitting play on [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=epGxOT-ejYQ) while reading this mini-piece.

Zevran's eyes slowly reopened, his mind twirling with feelings burning so deep through his body he knew we would have to die in order to release them. The blurred image of Frey's lips formed in front of him. They were of a pale roseate, like a gentle spring, smooth and much softer than the words that often came out of them; the upper lip was thinner, like the provocative line of a taut bow, whereas his lower lip was slightly plushier, nibbable, he thought. His tongue immediately caressed his own lips, much rougher and meatier, as if to collect any trace of Frey's left on them. Despite all the physical allure built up on those endless camp days, it was the feelings riding underneath it that made him shiver. It was a type of surrender he could not have imagined from a simple touch of lips, the kind that becomes embedded in one's soul for much beyond even death.

Both stared at one another, studying each other's gaze, pupils dilating with each heartbeat, as if in search of a dying light. Silence, like the second before a fight, like the quiet sky ere the first thunderclap of a storm. Breathing becomes harder, and a low and husky hum vibrates down the throat of the Antivan, inquisitive, demanding, fierce yet scared. Still silence; Zevran’s heart skips a beat and suddenly he feels overwhelmed by an urge to say something, shatter the silence; to comfort Frey, and also himself. Suddenly, his heart skips a beat, and his body loses, all strength escaping from him, leaving him at every pore; his defeated eyes finally wandered away from Frey’s pull. He tried to look at the torch behind Frey, hoping the light would blind not only his eyes but his senses, but the fire, blazing like a sunset in a slow dance of crimson and ochre, reflected the most sanguine hues of Frey’s hair that started to grow longer, like a bloody blessing, veiling his head. Soon, his eyes were back at where they started, like the needle of a compass perpetually seeking its north. The endless silence. Warmth and cold switched places playing hide and seek along different parts of his body, and in a split second he reached for Frey once again, shutting his eyes as the bodies drew closer. Despite the heaviness of his arms, wrapping tightly around Frey, there was lightness in his chest, an almost hollow flutter at the the touching. Zevran allowed himself to sink, eyes closed, into the warmth of Frey's body, hugging him as if holding just wasn't enough, as if by pressing each inch of him into every inch of Frey he would bond the two of them, like a caterpillar yearns the safety of its cocoon.  He knew there that he would seek to be in those arms at every chance the universe would be kind enough to allow. That was something about Frey's touch that made everything else simply... possible. In that moment, as his arms squeezed a tiny fraction tighter, he felt his feelings trying to flood his eyes, every muscle in his body slowly loosing tension, as if he collapsed from inside out.

Of all that he came to do, and of all he had done, of all the things thinkable and all the unimaginable as well. Falling for someone, in the childlike manner was... He felt like laughing, amidst the tears he secretly keep captive in his eyes. Frey was someone who'd make the the light in a room always shine a bit darker, he was like the promise of a desperate man; nothing about him was romance and flower, giggle and flute. Frey wore his darkness like a badge of pride. Of hope. And in that, there was kinship among the two of them, in every crack and scar they carried in their souls. Zevran tried to rationalized what he was feeling, but his mind would always race him to realms he didn't believe he could return to, not since Rinna. Zevran's nose brushed against Frey's neck, as if he tried to anchor himself to reality. The feeling of the Dailish's ivory and cold skin blurred his senses and his lips followed to alight a gentle kiss on the curve of his neck, with a gentle, almost imperceptible sucking, like a thirsty bird trying to quench his need from a dew freckled petal about to fall in a crisp autumn morning.  Lightness and precision, his best skills. Soft and gentle, with a small hint of coldness. Finally, Zevran understood the silence, the unspoken words. It was never only him who feared; he had never been alone in his doubt. To kill him and Frey, there would only ever have to be one arrow.

His chest calmed, and he regained composure, letting go of the moment with such care as if not to wake himself from the spell, his fears disappearing like rain over the hot summer earth. He moved out of Frey’s personal space with two small steps, but his eyes lingered, like the silence between them, invasive and inquisitive. Time stood still for a second, as Zevran searched himself for courage not to teach himself the ways of reality. Rinna’s memory visited him again, as her vivid poetical ways once taught him, “a kiss can be worth a thousand words, Zev”. But in truth, sometimes it was worth just a single one: love. Zevran had for so long being afraid of it he couldn't recall a time he said the word out loud. Yet he felt it, again. He loved Frey like he was the last of his kind, as if he offered him the cure of a sickness he didn't know he was dying off; as if they spoke a language only each other could understand. He loved Frey, like the sky loves a bird, with open hands and freedom, with all that he can offer. And in return, Frey had returned his heart back to him.

**Author's Note:**

> The recommended song is [Gymnopédie No.1](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gymnop%C3%A9dies), by the French composer Erik Satie and it was chosen as it imparts the "nakedness" of Zevran before the realization of his love for the Warden.


End file.
